6.16.2006

God, Keighley, we were not a cityof giant things: weeds and wordsfor sleet from a Russian immigrant.He evacuated a smirched shantytownfor your couch. He called Carola girl who sound like horse.

Not horse, dude: just Caterpillar bootsnailed like pelts to the sweep ofmatching chimneys in a mute mining town,to wet porches and beer bongs and summerplans of sinking knuckles beneath lashes.

This other girl is off for Africa,but she keeps whomping my shoulders,like you don't understand, you don't --what about hairdryers? Who knows, eatthese Mini-Wheats, you're way gone,you're way gone-- but none of us are way

gone, Keighley. I mean: why did welet Carol down a fishtank full of rum?I mean: I was stupid when I saw hersmack the cop car, Indian-sprawledin a rain ditch, mascara flakesdusting her crooked belt buckle.

I was stupid when I saw her and thoughthooray for pear and gorgonzola pizzain my New York City summer! Fuck everyone!You sound like horse like horse like horse!

Think now of how the tossed off lapthe swamp. They swim and make the rainthat makes us glad when sun bustsback to squish our guilt, thank God.

Keighley, hose her down and buy hera clipper ship? You won't. We werea city of singed faceplants, andwe left no lasting grace, onlyits opposite -- riddens -- thatbrands the broken like a long noon.

13 comments:

...andwe left no lasting grace, onlyits opposite -- riddens -- thatbrands the broken like a long noon.

I really like that bit. Very beautiful. The only part I'm not too fond of would be the "what about hairdryers?" I was hoping for something slightly more poignant after "like you don't understand, you don't". Also...not sure if it was intentional or not, but you spelled "caterpillar" wrong. :)

I've been listening to "The Eraser." Love it, of course. Thanks, again. :) Sorry I was so out of it when you brought it over. I was kinda high on anti-nausea meds. So...how about that track-list, eh? I want to rip it to my iPod but can't, really, until I have track names. No hurry or anything...

it wasn't MEANT to be, but it CAN be.i have a serious problem with commenting on people's pages without prior knowledge of the posts that preceded it, nor the initial blog entry that started it. i will go back and read your poem...

It's not really traditionally pretty. What's pretty about eating Mini-Wheats? Some of the lines have pretty things in them. I don't think the poem is pretty. I think the poem has nice earrings maybe. If it's pretty it's like emo-girl pretty.

Also: it's not about her. If you didn't know her you would think more, I think. Those are very nice details about the tits and crank. Thank you for sharing them.